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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839508">Tired</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khylara/pseuds/Khylara'>Khylara</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fall Out Boy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Peterick, Post-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:02:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>349</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khylara/pseuds/Khylara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is tired.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tired</h2></a>
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    <p>Patrick stood in front of the couch, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his husband. "Are you high?" he found himself asking. "You've been lying there like a slug for the past hour."</p><p>Pete looked up at him. "I'm just so fucking tired," he confessed, frowning. "And I don't know why."</p><p>"Staying up until three in the morning playing video games with Bronx will do that," Patrick said as he sat down on the couch. He very gently put Pete's head into his lap. "It's a good thing for you that Ashlee took him home today."</p><p>"Kid beat me two games out of three, too," Pete grumbled before sighing. "When did I get so fucking old?"</p><p>"You're not old," Patrick denied as he carded his fingers through Pete's dark hair. "I don't see any silver hair here. Not even at your temples."</p><p>"I feel like I'm ninety. And it's only going to get worse." He looked at Patrick. "You still love me, right?"</p><p>"Until my dying day," Patrick promised, smiling down at him. "Why don't you take a nap, love?" I'll sit and keep you company for awhile."</p><p>Pete clutched at his hand. "Promise?"</p><p>Patrick's heart went out to him. "Go to sleep. love. I'll be here." obediently, Pete closed his eyes. Soon, he was snoring softly.</p><p>Patrick pulled the afghan his grandmother had made for them off the back of the couch and tucked it around him. <em>Let</em> <em>him</em> <em>sleep</em>, he thought fondly as he watched. <em>He</em> <em>needs</em> <em>the</em> <em>rest.</em></p><p>Just then his phone rang. Digging it out of his back pocket, he clicked on the tiny drums icon. "Hey, Andy. What's up?" he listened for a moment. "No, not tonight. Pete's here, asleep. he survived a marathon gaming session with Bronx and he's pretty tired." He listened some more. "Sure. Tomorrow's good. I'll check with Pete and get back to you." He paused. "Have a good night. See you then." Hanging up, he put it on the side table and resumed carding his fingers through Pete's hair. </p><p>Through it all, an exhausted Pete slept on.</p><p> </p>
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